


Between Friends

by TrashCat



Category: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fantasizing, Holding Hands, Masturbation, Natsuhi is repressed as hell, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:06:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashCat/pseuds/TrashCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beatrice the Golden, that had been the name of the witch, right? She had been Father's mistress long ago, or so the stories said. There was a picture of her in Father's study, sitting tall, regal, eyeing her with a cool amusement. She had always seemed like such a sophisticated woman. A woman like that would know about the things Natsuhi was about to do. A beautiful, worldly, European woman wouldn't be so afraid of her own body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Umineko needs more femslash, yo. 
> 
> Also I hope I guesstimated correctly for when Krauss & Natsuhi got married/when George was born/when that smaller portrait of Beatrice got into Kinzo's office (I kind of assumed it existed before the big one in the entrance hall? If it's addressed in EP8 then I haven't gotten to it yet).

She had to get to know her own body first. That was what Kumasawa-san had said. Natsuhi's tears had dried into salt tracks on her cheeks, but her breathing was still gasping and ragged. Her bedsheets felt cool against her skin, and the sunlight pouring in from the window warmed her. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but even in the comfort of her own room, her own nakedness seemed indecent.

Seven years of marriage, and not a single pregnancy. Eva had teased her mercilessly about it all yesterday, at George's birthday party—and all she could do was sit straight in her chair, eyes burning, and accept it all. She couldn't deny that she had failed to produce an heir. Intercourse had become a dreaded chore now. Her inevitable surge of hope the morning after was always shattered. And while Krauss urged her to remain patient, she could feel the cold eyes of Father and the other Ushiromiyas, waiting, impatiently mocking her and the bad luck that cursed her body.

And when she had sobbed into Kumasawa's chest, hardly two hours ago, Kumasawa had taken her into the kitchen, urged her to sit down and put a cup of tea in her hands. In hushed, gentle tones, she had asked Natsuhi: What do you usually do? When you're trying to conceive an heir, how do you do it?

It had been hard to get the words out even when she tried to use the vaguest descriptions. But Kumasawa had been frank. She had told Natsuhi about...things Natsuhi had never heard of or guessed could exist.

Now, laying on her bed with her bedroom door locked, she inched a hand between her legs. Her knees were far apart, and she stared at the light dancing across the ceiling, trying to distract herself. She felt so exposed. Outside, the leaves of the trees fluttered in a cool sea breeze.

Just before her fingers brushed against that forbidden place, she sat up. Maybe the fresh outside air would relax her. She opened the window and drew the curtains, even though there was nothing on this side of the house but deep, dark woods; she knew no one would see her, but the paranoia wouldn't leave. Didn't Father and the servants tell stories about how this island was full of demons and ruled by a witch?

Natsuhi shakily laid back down on the soft sheets. Beatrice the Golden, that had been the name of the witch, right? She had been Father's mistress long ago, or so the stories said. There was a picture of her in Father's study, sitting tall, regal, eyeing her with a cool amusement. She had always seemed like such a sophisticated woman. A woman like that would know about the things Natsuhi was about to do. A beautiful, worldly, European woman wouldn't be so afraid of her own body.

Natsuhi closed her eyes and let her head sink into her pillow.

As she lightly touched her fingertips to the dark curls between her legs, she heard a soft footstep, then another, like someone treading across the carpet in heels. Natsuhi tensed up. 

“Shhh,” said a voice in the room, and then there was a gentle laugh.

Natsuhi heard fabric rustling at the foot of her bed, and then a pair of warm, dry hands rested gently on her thighs. Her eyes sprung open.

Kneeling at the end of the bed was a young woman with golden curls, in a beautiful elaborate dress, a familiar dress. Natsuhi stared. The woman gave her a mischievous smile.

She inclined her head and kissed Natsuhi softly, in the place where she felt most exposed.

“W-wait...” Natsuhi said. Only through conscious effort did she keep her legs open; she wanted so badly to clamp them around the intruder's head.

“Yes?” Beatrice said. Her voice was low and sweet, and a smile danced around the edges of her mouth.

Natsuhi couldn't summon any words.

Beatrice grinned. “That's right...relax now. You're always stretched so thin, aren't you? I've been watching over you, ever since you came to my island. You work so hard...” Her lips touched the white inside of Natsuhi's thigh. “You're such a pitiful woman, Natsuhi.”

Natsuhi flinched; a strand of Beatrice's golden hair tickled her skin, as she kissed her again and again, flitting between Natsuhi's thighs, her touches like an insect's feet.

“I've been longing to see children on this island again,” Beatrice said. “But I'm sure you're tired of thinking of that, aren't you?” Her breath was warm.

Natsuhi felt as if she was being teased. Her legs shook. “Y-yes.”

Beatrice's kisses were growing longer, closer and closer to that dirty place Natsuhi didn't dare to touch. “Then why not take your mind off it? It's possible to make love without worrying about children. Haven't you ever done that?”

“No...I can't possibly bring myself to. Even when my husband only wanted to enjoy my company...I just couldn't think of anything else.” Natsuhi stared at the ceiling, avoiding the curious eyes of the witch, and her vision blurred. The salty taste of disappointment and shame stung her mouth again.

“Now, now, Natsuhi...there's nothing wrong with having fun just for the sake of fun.”

And Beatrice's hot wet tongue pressed against that most sensitive place that Natsuhi had been avoiding. A shudder ran through Natsuhi's entire body.

The witch's kisses turned to long licks, tracing around that sensitive place she had touched just moments before. Natsuhi screwed her eyes shut, as if by closing her eyes she could disappear, but instead she just noticed every feeling more deeply: Beatrice's slender fingers gently but forcefully keeping her thighs apart, her breath hot and close, an oppressive feeling of building pressure and rising heat that made her want to close her legs.

“Th-this is strange,” Natsuhi protested.

But at the same time, the caresses of the witch made her feel warm. And she wanted to feel that, wanted so badly to feel the warmth of skin against hers. When was the last time her husband had held her? A hot streak of tears ran down the side of her face and into her ear, and she turned her face to the side to rub it into the sheets. Beatrice looked up.

“Natsuhi? Is something wrong?” Beatrice's mouth was ringed with moisture, and even the tip of her nose shone.

“Y-yes—n-no—I don't know,” Natsuhi sniffled. She reached a hand out and touched Beatrice's hair. “Don't stop. Please.”

Beatrice took Natsuhi's hand off her head and gently held it. Beatrice's hand was soft, the hand of a woman who had been cared for and loved by Father and who never had to worry about heirs or inheritance or family honor, a woman who had lived a daily existence of attention and affection and kisses, to whom a barren womb was a blessing, not a curse. Natsuhi held onto that hand as if Beatrice might slip away, and sobbed.

“What am I doing wrong?” she whimpered. “I don't know anything about this. What if I'm doing it all horribly wrong and don't even know it and I'll never manage to have any children at all...I'll never be able to present myself to the family again. What if Father tells my husband to marry a new wife?”

“Whaaaat? You're getting ahead of yourself, Natsuhi. You're still young, right? You have plenty of time to bear children.” Her eyes glinted mischievously. “And if you can no longer be his wife, then you'll just have to become his mistress. All the fun parts and none of the work!”

“A-absolutely not,” Natsuhi sputtered. “That would just disgrace him even further and—I'm not some kind of kept woman and...I don't even know where I would live...” Her face burned red as Beatrice giggled.

Maybe to distract her, Beatrice gave her full attention to Natsuhi, not toying with her anymore but sucking hard on her. Her blue eyes wouldn't leave Natsuhi's. Natsuhi saw amusement, serenity, pity—friendship. As if confirming that, Beatrice entwined their fingers together.

She had said she didn't want it to stop, but now she was squirming on the sheets, trying hard not to clamp Beatrice's head between her legs, gritting her teeth. It was uncomfortable, but not in a negative way: she just felt that something had to happen, and it wasn't. Beatrice's mouth was relentless between her legs and Natsuhi feared suddenly that she would urinate.

But she didn't, just shuddered as the pleasure ran through her: she failed to keep in a little cry.

“Oho, that's cute.” Beatrice looked up. “Next time I'll make you praise my name.” She grinned. “I'll let you off easy for now, though. You're done.”

Natsuhi nodded. Slowly, she sat up on the bed.

“Don't look so sad, Natsuhi...” Beatrice pouted: it made her look even more youthful, almost teenaged. “Aren't you glad you learned about this? Doesn't it make you look forward to spending more time with your husband? You can teach him how to do it if you don't think he knows.” She crawled up onto the bed, still holding Natsuhi's hand. “Next time, don't you want _his_ golden head between your legs?”

“Y-yes,” Natsuhi admitted.

“Don't be scared, then,” Beatrice said. “Next time you want to practice, you can call on me again, alright? It's not as if there's much else for me to do right now. And besides, what else are friends for?”

With that, she leaned in and softly kissed Natsuhi on the forehead. Natsuhi closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was alone: only a glimmer of golden dust marked the leaving of the Golden Witch.

 


End file.
